Shirt Fetish
by Seynee
Summary: Because he has a shirt fetish, and call it insanity, but she's always thought he's the cutest when he's frustrated. — Hitsugaya, Matsumoto.


**notes:** I shouldn't be doing this while I have tons of homework and school is starting really, really soon. This plot bunny came up and pleaded for me to write it, and this is the result. :p

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**shirt fetish**  
_a way into your heart_

.

There was something incredibly sexy about a woman wearing a man's shirt, and Hitsugaya Toushirou was having a very hard time trying to ignore it.

Perched in front of him, _on his bed_, was Matsumoto Rangiku, wearing only a plain white shirt—_his_ favorite white shirt, he noted—and a pair of purple pajamas shorts.

If he didn't know any better, he would think that she was trying to seduce him, but that wasn't the case. They were just back from a mission to kill some menos grandes, they were tired, and his room happened to be the closest. Matsumoto's clothes had been tainted with blood, and conveniently enough, some of his clothes were fresh from the dryer.

Of course, like any honorable man, Hitsugaya knew to pick his fights when she borrowed it from him.

Coughing surreptitiously, he picked up his pen and tried to refocus on the document he was supposed to sign, granting someone a written permission to do something, somewhere, sometime. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was just that it would take an insane amount of willpower for a man his age—young and growing (and raging with hormones), Soul Society standards would say—to care about something else apart from the fact that there was a woman (_Matsumoto Rangiku_, no less) sitting on his _bed_.

Hitsugaya knew he was above ordinary people—he was a prodigy and the youngest captain of all the Gotei 13, for God's sake!—and ordinarily he would find it much, much easier to look away, but this wasn't an ordinary situation, as it seemed.

This was Matsumoto Rangiku, and she was, well, anything but ordinary.

And the _lump_ is his throat was _anything_ but ordinary, as well.

He swallowed.

_After this is over, I swear, I'll—_

"Is something wrong, taichou?"

Hitsugaya forced himself to look up.

Wrong move. Very, _very_ wrong move.

Looking up, as it turned out, did not only give him the opportunity to shake his head no in reply to her question, it also gave him a full blown view of how, _exactly_, she looked in his shirt.

It was amazing, what a plain white shirt could do. Although it was too big for her, the soft, white fabric clung to her every curve as if it was a lifeline, highlighting every single one of them. He had seen Matsumoto in clothes _way_ more revealing than this; swimsuits, bikini, you name it. She had a good figure and she wasn't very keen to hide it.

But the shirt. The _shirt_.

He had always known that she was attractive—gorgeous, even—and perhaps, on some level, he had felt some sort of attraction to her, but he hadn't known _known_ until now.

Matsumoto had _curves_.

She looked at him, concerned, "Taichou?"

With difficulty, he managed, forcing himself to look down, "No."

"If you're sure," she shrugged innocently, although he could feel her gaze trailing at him until she finally let it go and returned to painting her toenails.

Although his eyes were very carefully trained on the paper in his hands, Hitsugaya's face was _burning_, and for the first time in his life, he felt like a giddy, inexperienced school boy, something he was so, so sure he would never feel in his entire lifetime.

To distract himself from the ungodly feeling, he signed the documents one by one.

It didn't feel like five minutes when she suddenly stood up and approached his desk, looking at the paperwork on his desk and finally reaching for his cup of tea. She peered inside the cup and smiled brightly, "I'll go fill this in for you."

It didn't end there, however. Hitsugaya idly watched as Matsumoto exited the room—and the lump in his throat was back again. When did she start _swaying_ her hips like that? When did her hair start _dancing_ as she walked? Where did she learn to _move_ like that? And was that a _giggle_ he heard when she exited the room?

Taking deep, controlled breaths, Hitsugaya closed his eyes. He couldn't go on feeling like this. It wasn't right, and it was the pinnacle of distraction. Matsumoto was his _vice-captain_, for God's sake, weren't they supposed to feel comfortable and relaxed around each other?

Yet, this was nothing but.

It was enough that he felt very, _very_ slightly attracted to her as any ordinary man would, he didn't need other feelings to be born to jeopardize their whole relationship!

Soon after, Matsumoto came back, and as soon as his cup of hot, _hot _tea was in his reach, Hitsugaya went for it.

"Taichou! Be careful, it's burning!"

Ignoring her warning, he tipped the cup and drained the content. If there was nothing he could do to remedy his raging feelings, then surely something hot would shock him right back to his senses. It was something he picked up from his younger years as a shinigami, after all—while too much external heat could _kill_ him (not quite literally, of course, but he _did_ wield an ice-type zanpakutou), internal heat was mostly good.

Putting the almost empty cup down, he shook his head, trying to clear his head. His eyes watering a little from the burning sensation on his tongue, he looked at Matsumoto and waited for some effect to take place, for some realization to sink in, for something, _anything_, to happen.

Nope. He still felt the same things he did when he looked at her, and now his tongue was burning.

Trying to recoil from the damage, Hitsugaya drew in sharp, quick breaths.

Matsumoto looked at him in confusion and worry, "Are you okay?"

His hand covering his burning mouth, he managed a hoarse reply, "Yes."

"Want me to get some cold water?"

He closed his eyes, "Yes."

She hurried to get him a glass of cold water, and when she came back, he drained it again.

"Better?" she asked.

"A little."

"I told you it was hot!" she started, "Honestly, taichou! You're still just as—"

He shot her a look that quickly shut her off, "I didn't think it would be _that_ hot."

"Of course you didn't," she said soothingly, knowing better than to push it. She looked at him thoughtfully for a while as he steadied his breathing, before pulling him up from his chair. When he looked at her in protest, she just grinned back, "Relax, taichou, I know just the cure."

* * *

Most people would think that Hitsugaya, being much more mature and wiser than Matsumoto, would be the one who could coax her into doing numerous things she normally would be opposed to. While this was true for some things, most of the time, it was the other way around. _Matsumoto_ would be the one who could coax _Hitsugaya_ into doing numerous things he normally would avoid like a plague, and she did it as often as she could.

Which was why he found himself sitting inside Seireitei kitchen at 12.33 PM on a working day, he supposed, watching Matsumoto as she evaluated the contents of the freezer.

She whirled back about two seconds later, handing him a chocolate popsicle and holding a strawberry one for herself. Sitting on the counter across his stool, she grinned, "Enjoy."

Hitsugaya raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure this is okay?"

"What is?" Matsumoto asked, nonchalantly licking her popsicle.

"Breaking into the kitchen like this."

Her grin widened, "As long as they don't find out."

He looked at her, and sighed in defeat as he begun to enjoy his chocolate-flavored popsicle. Enjoying the cold, somewhat sweet taste on his burnt tongue, he relaxed.

"Like it?" Matsumoto's eyes twinkled.

He studied her for a moment, "It's okay."

She was never one to abide by the rules too closely. Initially he had thought that they would be an ill-mannered pair, for their extremely different personalities. She seemed far too sunny, far too cheerful to keep up with his silent demeanor, but as it turned out, that made them the perfect pair. She _was_ too sunny, too cheerful for her own good, but more often than not he found that he didn't mind. It was refreshing, how she couldn't keep her mouth shut. He couldn't imagine having a quieter, calmer vice-captain who didn't fuss over him the way she did.

She made a face, "Admit it, taichou, it's the best thing you've tasted."

"I've had better."

"Yes, but today?"

He nodded, albeit a little grudgingly.

Matsumoto gave a triumphant smile, "How's the burn?"

"Better."

"Thought so," she said, still licking her popsicle absent-mindedly, "I didn't know you didn't realize you're so sensitive to heat, taichou."

"I do realize it," Hitsugaya, having chewed his, stood up and threw the wrapping on the waste basket.

Her eyes darted to his, studying his expression carefully, "You've been acting weird."

"That's—" he sighed, stopping himself. Denying it wouldn't work. He wasn't known for being good at hiding his feelings, and she was always known for her persistence. He glared at her, but she was way too used to _that_, she didn't even flinch. "It's all your fault," he accused, finally.

"Eh?" she tilted her head, blinking innocently as she threw her wrapping into the bin, "What did I do?"

"You and that—" Hitsugaya took a deep breath, "You and that _shirt_, it looks very, very—" he stopped himself.

"What?" Matsumoto asked, staring at him with intense gray eyes, although her lower lip was twitching very, very suspiciously, as if she was holding back her laughter, "What is it that you want to say, taichou?"

"I just—"

"You don't like it?" Cutting in, she stepped closer to him, giving him a very, very innocent smile that was anything but, "But, taichou, don't you think I look good in your shirt?"

Hitsugaya colored, and then said "No!" in a manner that could only say, "Yes, I think you look very, very, _very_ good."

"Aww, look, you're blushing, taichou!" Matsumoto clapped her hands gleefully, and then her gaze softened, "I made Hitsugaya-sama blush."

"I'm not blushing!" he glared at her, "And don't call me that!"

"But, taichou!" she pouted.

"Point is, I don't want you to—" he frowned in frustration, regaining self-control at the last minute, and then tugged on his collar, abruptly changing the subject, "Don't they have air conditioner here, why does it feel so _fucking_ hot—"

A giggle escaped from her lips.

He glared even harder at her, "Don't laugh at me!"

"But I'm not laughing at you!" she gasped, and then clutched her heart dramatically, "That's just plain mean, taichou! After all the years, after all we've been through, I thought you knew me well enough to know that I would never, never laugh at you," she fervently nodded, "for whatever reason! I didn't think you'd be—"

"Matsumoto?" he stepped forward, eyes flashing in warning.

"Yeah?"

"Be quiet," he huffed.

"But if it bothers you too much, taichou," the blonde started, ignoring the pointed glare in his eyes and instead, gazed back with such strong intensity, "I could always—"

"Be quiet," he repeated, face dangerously close to hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek, and suddenly, his arms were around her, and it was Matsumoto's turn to feel _hot_.

Realizing that they were eye to eye, she averted her eyes and shivered, "T-taichou..."

She was very, very, still in his arms, he felt every inch of his self-control slipping away very, very easily from him, and her lower lip was trembling—

—and just like that, Hitsugaya decided that he was having _no more_ of this.

"Matsumoto," he said, his voice low and husky, "Look at me."

They were too close, Matsumoto had to hold her breath as she daringly looked up and met his eyes, chin high.

And just as their gazes met, he delved in without warning, eyelids dropping shut. His cold lips danced above her warm mouth gently, softly, before becoming more passionate, more _urgent_, and for a moment she was unsure of what to do, until he unconsciously ran a hand down her side and her mind went _blank_, her knees buckling and her eyes closing like a doll's and she tilted her head to feel it deeper, deeper, _deeper_.

To Matsumoto, this was a whole new kind of feeling. Sure, she had kissed and been kissed before, but those were nothing compared to this. This was odd. This was surreal. This was _different_, This was _Hitsugaya Toushirou_ kissing her!

And all she could smell, taste, and feel was him.

His lips felt brazen, cold and rough on hers as he kissed her hard, hungry, but at the same time, they were warm. She could feel his nose on hers, his eyelashes grazing her cheek. She became very, very aware that one of his hands was at the back of her neck, that the other was holding her to keep her from falling over. He smelled like ice, wind, and Hitsugaya Toushirou.

And then he released her, keeping his arms around her for support. Losing any strength or even the willpower to stand up, she leaned forward, her eyes still closed, tucking herself under his chin.

It felt so, so _right_.

After a few moments, she looked up, swollen lips and all.

It only took Hitsugaya three seconds to give her a quick kiss, before pulling away and finally, finally released her. His hair was disheveled, but the satisfied smirk threatening to break on his lips said it all.

He touched his forehead to hers, "Are you alright?"

"Never been better," she replied, and a few seconds later, realized that she had never meant anything more than that.

"Shall we go back?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered happily, taking his arm.

* * *

Later, when they were back in Hitsugaya's room and he was back doing paperwork (that damned workaholic!), Matsumoto smiled to herself. Kimonos didn't work. Swimsuits didn't work. Heck, even_bikinis_ didn't work. Who would have thought that _this_ would?

Because Hitsugaya had a shirt fetish, and call it insanity, but Matsumoto had always thought he was handsomest when he was frustrated.

Handsomest, and very, very kissable indeed.

.

**end.**

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**notes:** thanks for reading!


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